Fools Rush In
by Swanseajill
Summary: The boys hunt a legendary monster in the swamps of Louisiana. Will Dean’s desire to get the job finished quickly land him in more trouble than he’d bargained for?


**Title:** Fools Rush In  
**Author:** Swanseajill  
**Characters:** Dean, Sam  
**Pairing**: None  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Disclaimer:** Don't own them, making no money from them  
**Summary:** The boys hunt a legendary monster in the swamps of Louisiana. Will Dean's desire to get the job finished quickly land him in more trouble than he'd bargained for?  
**Author's Notes:** This story originally appeared in the _Supernatural_ zine "The Brotherhood 2," published by Pyramids Press. Thanks to Yum and Kati for publishing it, and to stealthyone for the usual wonderful beta.

* * *

Sam wiped the sweat off his brow for the second time in as many minutes as he stood waiting for Dean to unload the weapons from the trunk of the Impala. The afternoon sun blazed down, and already the humidity had stuck his shirt uncomfortably to his back. 

He took a look around him. From the small parking area, he could see their destination stretching out ahead, mirage-like in the shimmering heat. The Honey Island Swamp, in Louisiana. Wild, remote, and home to the legendary Honey Island Swamp Monster, celebrated in most published books of urban legends and every noteworthy cryptozoology website.

Sam folded his arms and frowned as he watched Dean slam the trunk and heft his backpack onto his shoulder. "Dean, I still think we're rushing into this."

Dean swung around to face him. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure, Sammy? It's not like we're going up against a wendigo or a rawhead. Dad's journal says these things are dumb as bricks, easy to take down, right?"

Sam glanced down at the journal in his hands. "It actually says it didn't _appear_ to be very intelligent, so as long as you don't let it take you by surprise—"

"Right. So where's the problem?"

"As I think I've pointed out several times already," Sam said with as much patience as he could muster, "the problem is that we don't have all the facts."

"We have plenty of facts." Dean began to count them off on his fingers. "One: the legendary monster exists, and this one is following exactly the same pattern Dad recorded in his journal. Two: we have to find it fast, because we know before long it's gonna start chewing up more than wild boars and a couple of pet dogs. Three: these things can be killed - Dad proved that five years ago. What else do we need to know?"

"We could be going up against it without some vital information."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And whose fault is that?"

Sam glared at him. "Yours, actually. _You _rocked the table."

"And _you_ spilled a whole mug of coffee over Dad's journal."

Sam glared some more. "Yeah. Because _you_ rocked the table."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, what's the point of having hands like giant hams if you can't even hang on to a mug of coffee?"

Sam gritted his teeth. Dean was intolerable in this kind of mood. "I don't have…" No, he wouldn't give Dean the satisfaction of rising to the bait. "Anyway, it wasn't a whole mug, and there wasn't much damage done."

"Oh, not much, except that half the freaking pages are glued together with vanilla-flavored Macchiato extra-shot easy-on-the-caramel."

"It was only ten pages, and I've got them all unstuck except two." The two that contained what he was sure were important facts they needed for this hunt.

Dean shrugged. "Whatever. If we don't get moving, we won't have time to find this thing before dark and, dude, there's no way I'm camping out in this swamp tonight. And there's sure as hell no way I'm driving all the way out here again tomorrow."

Dean had a point. The road from the highway - the narrow dirt track, to be more accurate - had twisted and turned tediously through the beginnings of swampland for many miles. Dean had bitched loudly and annoyingly every time they'd hit a pothole and sludgy brown mud sprayed up over the Impala's recently cleaned and gleaming body.

"Look, I know why you're really in such a hurry," Sam said, irritated by Dean's inability to appreciate the problem. "You just want to get back to town so you can go to that diner for dinner."

"Meatloaf to kill for, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's not the food you're thinking about."

Dean smirked. "You're so right. Who needs food when they can have _Nancy_? That girl's totally edible."

Sam shot him a look.

"What?" Dean said defensively. "She's a nice girl. Great personality."

"Great boobs, you mean."

Dean attempted an innocent, martyred expression. "Sam, I'm hurt. It's not all about looks, you know." His lips quirked. "Though, I'm impressed. Thought you had your nose stuck too far into your laptop to notice, College Boy. She also has an amazing—"

"Dean, forget Nancy." Sam thrust the journal in his brother's face. "Look. The last bit of the entry I can make out says, 'Under no circumstances – ' and that's where the page is stuck. Don't you think we should wait to find out what it is we shouldn't do?"

Dean gave him a disparaging look. "Sam, don't be such a girl. We've got all the facts we need. It's big, it's ugly, and it's stupid."

"And slimy."

"What?"

"According to the latest sighting, it's slimy, too."

"Yeah, okay. It's big, it's ugly, it's stupid, and it's slimy. We just gotta find it and blow it away, job done. What can go wrong?"

Sam couldn't believe Dean had tempted fate by saying that. "Dean--"

Dean ignored him and set off at a brisk pace.

"_Dean!"_

Dean looked back over his shoulder. "Sam. Stop whining and shag ass!"

"Jerk," Sam muttered under his breath. He glared after Dean for a long moment, fuming and cursing the bad luck that had landed him with a bull-headed horndog as a brother. Given a little more time, he'd be able to pry those two pages apart without ripping them or losing any of the print. But no, Mr. Thinking-With-His-Downstairs-Brain just couldn't wait.

Sam paused a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow again, then swallowed his annoyance, shouldered his own backpack, and followed his brother down the path toward the swamp.

……………………………….

They had been walking for half an hour through a forest of tall, gnarled cypress trees, whose branches formed a dense canopy that blocked much of the sun. The light that filtered through was tinged green by the reflection off the water.

The path was mostly moss-spongy but solid underfoot, although the river itself was always within sight, and from time to time they passed close to a large pond of greenish water and found themselves squelching through boggy ground.

They had agreed to start the search at the place a local had reported his dog missing two days before. It had been found yesterday in the same spot, throat cut and internal organs savagely ripped out.

Dean stopped abruptly and pointed. "That looks like it, just ahead."

Sam followed Dean's finger to a small stand of particularly twisted cypress trees on an outcrop of land at the junction of the river and a small tributary. One of the trees had a peculiarly shaped overhanging branch resembling a hand curled into a fist. It was clearly the

landmark the dog owner had described.

"Yeah, that's it," he said.

They walked up to the stand and put their backpacks down beside a large tree stump.

"Right, so we lay out some bait and wait for Swampy to come get it," Dean said.

Pulling out of his backpack the package of cheap steak they'd bought at a local butcher's shop, Dean walked along the edge of the water, liberally scattering the enticing meat.

Sam made himself comfortable on the stump, put his gun down beside him where he could reach it quickly, and opened their dad's journal. Working one of the smaller blades of his pocket knife between the stuck pages, he began carefully chipping away at the caramel-glue.

It was painstaking work. He couldn't work too fast for fear of tearing the page, but after about half an hour, he felt the page coming loose, and a moment later separated it in one piece from its mate. "Yes!" he hissed triumphantly under his breath.

Dean glanced at him from his position nearby. "What?"

"I've got the page unstuck." Eagerly, Sam thumbed the paper over to see how the warning ended. "'Under no circumstances — ' Oh, shit!"

"Shh! I heard something." Dean was on his feet, scanning the woodland behind them.

Sam stood up quickly. Dean needed to know what he'd just read, especially if the monster was close. "Dean, you have to listen to this. It's important. The journal says—"

An eardrum-shattering screech filled the air. It was a sound unlike any Sam had heard before and sent a shiver down his spine. The closest he could come up with was a cross between a screech owl and a … well, he wasn't quite sure what, but something with a deeper, booming tone.

"Man!" Dean said. "Was that a Wookie?"

Yup. A Wookie. That was it. "Dean, you really—"

The monster burst out of the undergrowth about thirty yards away.

Sam stared at it and couldn't repress a shudder. The eyewitness accounts were scarily accurate. The beast stood seven feet tall at least, with bulging chest and shoulders and disproportionately thin arms and legs. Its huge webbed hands and feet ended in three stubby digits, each of which sprouted vicious two-inch pointed claws. Its hide was damp and glistening, and long, straggly hair covered the head, partially hiding the facial features. Big? Check. Slimy? Check. Ugly? Double check. Stupid? Too soon to tell.

Dean squared his jaw and brought his shotgun up.

"Dean, wait! The journal says--"

"Shut up, Sam."

"Dean!"

Dean ignored him and took careful aim. "Bring it on, you slimy mother—" The creature snarled, revealing two rows of stained, pointed teeth, let out another ear-piercing screech, and charged. "— shit!"

Sam gaped. Man, that fugly creature was fast. It didn't say anything about fast in Dad's journal. Still, charging straight at a man with a gun? Stupid? Check.

The creature was almost on them, and there was no time for Sam to reach into his backpack for a different weapon. Dean stood his ground, and his finger tightened on the trigger. At that range, and with the monster coming straight for him, he couldn't miss.

Sam did what anyone with a healthy sense of self-preservation would do. He dove onto his belly behind the stump just as the shot rang out, the journal's fateful words ringing in his ears.

There was a soggy thump as the bullet hit its target, followed by a high-pitched wail and an explosion.

Then total silence.

The first thing Sam noticed was the smell. A smell so foul, he gagged and grabbed a handkerchief from his pocket to put over his mouth. It was bad eggs and sewage, noxious fumes and decaying corpses.

The smell of death.

Sam levered himself up on one elbow and cautiously peered over the top of the stump.

On the ground where the monster had been, there was nothing more than a small pool of brown and green liquid gently bubbling and steaming. The area around was liberally sprinkled with chunks of slimy hide and other _stuff_ Sam had no intention of examining too closely.

Then there was Dean.

Dean lay flat on his back, shotgun still held limply in one hand.

"Dean? Man, are you okay?"

After a moment, Dean slowly got to his knees and then scrambled to his feet, turning to face his brother.

Relieved that he seemed unharmed, Sam took full stock of his brother's appearance, and a laugh bubbled up in his throat.

Dean had clearly taken the brunt of the explosion full-on. He was covered from head to foot in what could only be described as "goo." It was thick. It was slimy. It was gently dripping down his body. And it was a bright, vibrant green.

Sam stood up, mouth twitching. He tried desperately to keep a straight face but it was difficult, for Dean bore a striking resemblance to the Creature from the Black Lagoon, a film they'd watched at the motel two nights ago. Maybe the film had been some kind of bizarre forewarning?

Trying to fight back the grin that threatened, Sam lifted a hand in futile apology. "I tried to tell you…"

Dean's eyes glowed dangerously in much the same way the creature's had. He spat out a mouthful of green slime and said through gritted teeth, "What, exactly, did you try to tell me?"

"I finally got the page unglued. It says, 'Under no circumstances use a firearm against the creature.'"

Under the liberal coating of slime, a vein in Dean's neck began to pulse. "Is that it?"

"Uh…" Sam picked up the journal from the ground and shook off a few spots of slime. "Not quite. It also says, 'The gases in its intestines and stomach will ignite as the bullet impacts the body, causing the creature to explode.'"

Slime dripped down Dean's face as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Explode. Right. So how, exactly, does the journal suggest you kill it?" he asked in a deceptively quiet tone.

"Uh… It says, 'The safest method of killing the creature is to behead it with a sword or machete.'"

"A sword or machete."

"Yeah." Sam bit his lip to stop the smirk that threatened to burst forth. "Dean, I tried to warn you--"

Dean glared. "You didn't try _hard enough_!"

"Hey, you were the one who insisted on jumping in guns blazing!" Sam shot back, indignant at the total injustice of that comment. "'Where's your sense of adventure, Sammy?'" he mimicked.

Dean was making heavy breathing noises now, sounding a lot like Darth Vader behind his mask, and his jaw clenched under the dripping slime. "Anything else you think I should know?"

"There's a bit about disposing of the body – I think the explosion already did that for us, though. Then it says, 'Take care when handling the remains. The creature's bodily fluids will'--oh."

"_Oh?"_

"Uh… the bodily fluids will stain your clothes and skin green."

"_Stain_ your skin _green_?" Dean thundered. A large glob of slime dripped off his face and plopped wetly onto the ground below, leaving a decidedly green streak behind.

"That's what it says."

"Great." Dean spat out another mouthful of slime. "So I'm gonna look like the Incredible Hulk for the rest of my life."

"No, just a week or so," Sam said confidently, finally unable to hold back a snort of laughter at the horrified look on his brother's face. "It says the stain will fade eventually, especially if you use a stiff scrubbing brush every time you shower."

"Oh, that's just fine and dandy, then."

"Maybe you can get Nancy to do the scrubbing," Sam suggested helpfully.

Dean glared daggers at him, then his face fell and he groaned. "Nancy!"

"Look on the bright side – maybe she has a thing for the Hulk."

Dean spluttered incoherently.

"You'd better try and wash some of that stuff off in the river," Sam went on. "Because, dude, you have no idea how bad you stink. And you don't want to get green slime all over the Impala's upholstery."

Dean found his tongue in an eloquent string of expletives. When he was done, he glared some more and then stomped off toward the river.

Sam couldn't help putting one final nail in the coffin of his humiliation. "Hey, Dean!"

Dean turned.

"Smile for the camera!"

The image captured on the screen of his cell phone was totally worth the ball of slime that hit him hard on the side of the head. Oh, yes, he was going to milk this one for a long time to come.

Dean stalked ahead as fast as possible with his boots weighed down with goo. As he followed behind his irate brother, Sam found himself grinning inanely. How did that phrase go? Oh, yeah. _Fools rush in where angels fear to tread._

He wondered which of their few friends he could send the photo to first.

**The End**


End file.
